just off  the  coast  to the  baltic sea 
   there's a freshwater pond, secluded    
 among ashen and juniper. a  cleft in the 
  limestone bedrock, sharp-cut from the   
    surrounding plains, a ninety degree   
 drop  down,  down, to the midnight-black 
                  water.                  
                                          
                          
                                  
     fairies live here.     
                                  
                          
                                          
 they  speak  to the  sloane, caress  it, 
 urge it to grow thicker,  tangled,  with 
 longer and sharper thorns.  they tell it 
 to stay  just below the  grass, so  that 
 the  animals  what  come  to  drink  the 
 water cannot  see  it  before  it  draws 
 their blood.  closer  to  the  pond, the 
 sloane can grow  taller, being  able  to 
        hide also in the juniper.         
                                          
 the  fairies will beckon the animals  to 
 push  forward,  tell  them that  they're 
 almost  at  the  water,  that  they  may 
 drink soon.  and they  will tug  on  the 
 sloane to make sure that the  thorns cut 
 deep.  when  they finally find  the path 
 down between  the  rocks,  away from the 
 bushwork and  into the  cleft, they  are 
 bleeding  from  a  thousand  wounds.  as 
 they  drink  from the  dark water, it is 
 in  turn  drinking  the  animals  blood. 
                                          
 the  circle  is complete,  the  contract 
 carried out; the  animal is abandoned to 
 find its own way  back. the bushes roots 
 drink the nutrutious water.  the fairies 
          dance in the sunbeams.